


All the Brightest Stars

by southsideglitter



Series: Bad Kids [3]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Bisexual Dream Team, Emotions, F/M, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Multi, Road Trip, Smut, Threesome, mentions of drug use, motel sex, southside serpents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-27
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-03 07:49:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15814599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/southsideglitter/pseuds/southsideglitter
Summary: Final installment in the trilogy (follow-on from Snakes & Hearts and Messy). Sweet Pea's gone for the summer, and you and Fangs miss him too much to stay put. So you're taking a road trip together to go get your man. Featuring: sex in motels, all the emotions, car games and confessions, a hotel shower big enough for three, and finally... the reunion with Sweets that you've traveled so far for.





	1. Keep it Real

You can’t set off straight away. You’ve got things to figure out. Like how you’re even going to get there. Fangs says his bike, says it like you’re an idiot for even asking, but you know he’s never going to let you drive. You’ll be more comfortable in a car. That way, you can share the driving duties, and it won’t be adrenaline and terror and hanging on tight for days on end. You love riding with him, but not that far. It’s a long way. Enough to make you wonder whether the entire thing is crazy, but school’s out for summer now and the route on the map looks simple enough, and the thought of being back with Sweet Pea is enough to convince you that you’ll go even crazier if you let things continue the way they’ve been. 

Between you and Fangs, you’ve got enough favours owed from the Serpents to borrow a car and money for gas. Sweet Pea hasn’t replied to your message saying you were coming, and that feels ominous. Fangs says he hasn’t heard anything either. You don’t discuss what that means until it’s time to leave. Fogarty with his sunglasses on, rummaging through your supply of road trip snacks before you can even load the car.  
“You sure you wanna do this, baby?” He tears a cereal bar wrapper open with his teeth. “We don’t know what he’s got going on, after all. It could be dangerous.”  
You nod. “All the more reason. Don’t want Sweets in danger solo, do we?”  
“No, but I promised Pea I’d have your back.” He looks away. “I don’t know if this counts.”  
Warmth surges through you for a second. They talk about protecting you all the time, but it makes it more real to know they’ve discussed it between them too. Still, you’ve made up your mind, and you wind your arms around Fangs’ waist and make your voice soft to show you understand what he’s saying. “Come on, Fogarty. Look at us. We need him.”  
Fangs wolfs the cereal bar down in two big bites and still doesn’t meet your eyes. You’re both replaying events Sweets since left. Some of it good. Some of it bad. You’ve been using each other: company, comfort, distraction. It’s been hot and dark and dirty, and moments of it have been incredible. But you’re both missing Pea so bad it aches, and you know you can’t keep each other together much longer. Fangs swallows and gives you a squeeze that says he knows. He knows, even if he won’t ever it say out loud.  
“Pea probably needs us just as much,” he quips, when you pull apart, forcing one of those trademark Fogarty grins. “Probably more, now that I think about it. We’re saving his ass right now. If not from danger then from boredom. Bitch better be grateful.”  
You roll your eyes and he says he’s driving first, then calls you a crazy puta when you throw the keys at him so hard he has to duck. You settle in the passenger seat with your feet up, basslines throbbing from the stereo, not watching the trailer park and the South Side and then the rest of town unscroll past your window. All you can think about is Sweet Pea, somewhere far away, not knowing that you’re on your way. You picture his shit-eating grin, his big gorgeous hands, the familiar warmth of his skin through his flannel shirts, being able to mess up his stupid over-coiffed hair again and see that snake tattoo on his neck slither when he swallows. Fangs drives like a demon and, for the first few hours, you sit side by side in near-silence, watching the road disappear beneath your wheels. You wonder whether Fangs is thinking about Sweet Pea too, if he’s replaying tiny beautiful moments and X-rated fantasies the same as you. 

You stop for bathroom breaks, snacks, coffee. You avoid bars and anywhere that could be trouble. When it’s your turn to drive, Fangs is a better passenger than you expected. It’s later that evening, and you’ve decided between you to do another couple of hours before finding somewhere to stay for the night.

Fangs is looking out the window, watching the sky turn sunset colours and telling you the names of all the brightest stars. After a while, he goes quiet.  
And then: “Did we do a bad thing, Y/N?”  
You look over, but he’s keeping his gaze turned to the glass. “What do you mean?” you ask.  
“You know. You, me, Sweet Pea. Was it bad that we brought sex into it, when we’d been so close so long?”  
“Did it feel bad?”  
He glances over, shy, sly. Takes one of your hands from the wheel and threads his fingers through yours. “You know it didn’t. But after, when it was just you and me. I didn’t treat you right. I swore to Sweets I’d look after you and I messed up. Maybe that wouldn’t have happened if we hadn’t…”  
“Or maybe,” you say, as his voice trails off and his fingers slip from yours. “Maybe it would have been worse. Maybe you would have gotten into even more trouble. Maybe you would have got hurt. Maybe I would have done more stupid things than I did.”

His eyes are dark and indecipherable. They flicker under the light from the streetlamps. You’re thinking of the way you lashed out at Fangs that night he was flirting with the boy from the Bijou. The way you stayed behind late at the Wyrm, behind locked doors with a Ghoulie whose name you never even learned. Risky things. Things done just to chase sensation, a determination to take things to extremes - even dangerous ones - if it gave you a way to crack through that creeping layer of numbness that came on once Pea was gone. 

Fangs looks at you, and after a long silence he sighs and says he’s sure you’re right. “You know it’s not just sex, though, don’t you? With you, there’s this intensity. More than with anyone else. I’ve been trying to ignore it. You know, hooking up with other people, or doing more jobs for the Serpents. Stuff to distract myself. And then, when that didn’t work, I tried to figure it out. But all I can come up with is that it’s because of our history. You, me, Pea. We’ve all been so tight for so long. Something about it just works. In bed and out. Obviously, we all gotta work out what we want and I’ll respect however that goes down, but damn. Now I know how good it can be, it’s gonna be tough. You know, to move on and tell myself that it was just this one time thing.”  
He shifts his rings on his fingers, like he wants to take your hand again. Your throat feels too tight, too sore to talk, so you don’t say anything. You keep your eyes on the road but you can feel Fangs watching as he swallows and continues.  
“But at least I had it, you know?” he says . “The three of us, together, that was golden. Some people never get something that good. At least I had it once.”  
“Fuck’s sake, Fogarty,” you mutter, pulling the car over.  
“What?! Come on babe, I’m just trying to keep it real.”  
“If you’re gonna make me cry, you gotta drive,” you tell him, unbuckling your seatbelt and slamming the door.  
He catches you in the beam of the headlamps, hugs you so hard you swear your ribs will break. And you wanna tell him good he is, how much you love him, how much you hate how tangled things have got, but how you wouldn’t change it for the world because he’s right. At least you got to have that night. At least you’re still here, still together, going after your man and trying to make things right. And you love him and you want him to have everything he wants. He deserves good things, golden things, you all do, and your boys more than anyone. Better than what the South Side can give. And it feels like too much to handle, all these mixed emotions at once, but Fangs is there, holding you tight, then cupping your face in his hands. When he kisses you this time, it’s the gentlest his lips have ever been.  
You stand in front of the car and let him nudge your lips apart with his, soft at first and then harder. And then you kiss him back, more and more, and by the time you pull apart everything feels okay again.  
“I’m sorry, okay?” he says, pressing his forehead against yours. “No more mushy shit, I promise.”  
“Don’t apologise, dickhead,” you mumble in reply, your voice somewhere between laughter and tears. “I just… it was magic for me too. I want more. I want it so bad it scares me. You, me, Sweets. We made a really good team.”  
“The best,” Fangs says, kissing your forehead and pulling you into his chest. “And we will again. You’ll see.”  
You snuffle, burying your face into his shoulder so he won’t see your wet eyes, and then tell him he can drive the last stretch while you look up places to stay on your phone. You don’t trust his judgement one bit, you say, as you swap seats and get back on the road. He doesn’t look at prices or the reviews, only the availability and quality of the three Ps: pool, pizza and porn.  
“Ridiculous,” you say, shaking your head, curled back up in the passenger seat, calmer now than before.  
“Sensible priorities,” Fangs retorts, going too fast, laughing with the windows down.


	2. How Many Miles Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're in a motel room with Fangs, obviously things are gonna get dirty...

You find a motel. It’s not got a pool or any pay-per-view channels but it does have a neon sign, a double room that fits your budget and a nearby pizza place that delivers even though it’s late. You slob out together, watching some dumb slasher movie and squabbling over the biggest slices. You’ve never been in a motel before but being with Fangs is safe and comforting, cute in its own weird way. You’re already a long way from home but he makes things feel familiar. You’re half-asleep on top of the covers when he nudges you awake.  
“You’re gonna miss the end, Y/N.”  
You keep your eyes closed. “I’ve seen it before. The redhead with the tits is the only one who survives.”  
“Aww, man! What did you let me get invested for?”  
You roll onto your side to face him. “This film is nearly twenty years old, idiot. You can’t keep up with classic pop culture, that’s on you.”  
“Okay, babe, cool it. I didn’t drive hours away from Jughead to feel like I’m sharing a room with him.”  
You smack him in the face with a pillow. “I’m better company and you know it.”  
Fangs play-wrestles the pillow from you, somehow ending up on top of you, pinning you in place.  
“I don’t know about better company,” he says, smirking. “But you’re definitely better looking.”  
You look up at him, at his gorgeous dark eyes, those beautiful lips, those dimples that only show when he’s smiling at Sweet Pea, or you.  
And on impulse, you kiss him. Like before, it starts out soft, sweet. And then it gets more intense, lips teasing each other until you’re both gasping for air.  
“What was that for?” he asks when you pull apart. His voice is gentle but he’s looking at you like he wants to eat you alive.  
You bite your lip, suddenly unsure. “I don’t know. I just wanted to kiss you.”  
“And what do you want now?” His voice is low, low enough to send shivers through you but for once there’s no flirty undertone to it. He’s asking, for real this time. Not just banter, or that fucked-up play-fight foreplay you’ve got so good at lately.  
You look into his eyes and feel like you’re falling.  
“You, Fangs,” you tell him. “I want you.”  
“You sure?” he asks, but you can feel from where his body’s pressed against yours that he’s already hard. “I don’t wanna hurt you, baby. I don’t wanna fuck up what we’ve got.”  
He’s letting you decide. You could go back to just being best mates, on a road trip, eating pizza in bed and insulting each other. It’d be cool, you know it would. He’s had his share of knockbacks, he knows how to handle himself, and you know he’d respect whatever you said. But even after spending so much time together, hours and hours in the rattling tin box of your borrowed car, it’s not enough. You want more. You want him, all of him.  
“So don’t hurt me,” you tell him, and as you kiss him again he mumbles that he won’t into your mouth.  
This time is different from the others. There’s a weird pure kind of sweetness as Fangs kisses down your throat, over your shoulders and collarbones and chest. You sigh with pleasure as he pulls down the straps of your vest, caressing your breasts and muttering under his breath in Spanish. You’ve picked up enough from him over the years to understand a few words, like beautiful, precious, incredible.  
“I’m not being fooled by this Latin lover schtick,” you tease him, but you’re already dizzy and distracted by his tongue and teeth on your nipples, by his hands and his hot breath on your skin.  
You feel him smile against your stomach. “I mean every word, princessa,” he says, and pulls down the waistband of your shorts.  
You let your head fall back onto the pillows as Fangs blazes a hot path of kisses over your hips. He pauses when he gets to the bruises; the fingermarks he left on you last time, when it was hot and hard and rough and dangerous, and felt nothing like this.  
“Sweets is gonna kill me when he sees these,” he murmurs, running feather-light fingers over the mottled skin. “I never should have put hands on you that left marks like this.”  
You’re torn; you can hear the bittersweet mix of emotion in his voice, the sharpness and the longing and a million other things you can’t name. But then there’s the way he’s touching you; fingers still moving but barely there, enough to make you feel like you’re imagining it. Enough to make you melt.  
“Fangs, you didn’t do anything I didn’t want. I wanted it hard. I wanted it to hurt. We were hurting so much on the inside already. I wanted to feel something else. Like, anything else. And you gave me that. In the moment, that was what we needed. It’s okay.”  
“But you’ve been walking around with these bruises, and--”  
You stroke over his shoulders, feeling the raised ridges where your nails carved lines down his back, where you clawed at him as he slammed and shuddered inside you, on those nights that were sweat and tension and heat and hurt; pleasure and pain combining, enough sensation to keep you going through days that were hollow and dragging and numb.  
“And I gave as good as I got, okay? Stop treating me like some breakable doll, Fogarty.”  
He grins, but you can still see concern written across his face. “I know you’re tough, Y/N,” he concedes. “But you shouldn’t have to be. And definitely not with me.”  
“You’re just scared about what will Sweets will say,” you grumble, but you’re only messing. It’s affectionate, it feels okay. You love him for caring, for not wanting you hurt, but you want him to understand too. He and Pea are the ones who make you feel good. You don’t want them treating you with kid gloves. Not for the sake of a few bruises or scratches, not when at the time all either of you wanted was harder, deeper, more, more, more.  
“So how do you wanna do this, baby?” he asks, kneeling over you now, cupping your face. Considering you’re topless in your underwear beneath him and he’s still fully clothed, you don’t feel vulnerable. You feel good; like you’ve got something golden and you’re warm from the glow.  
“Why don’t we take it gentle for once? We’ve never done that before. And besides, I’m kinda intrigued to see what you do with a challenge.”  
“Testing my talents?” he says, coming close enough to kiss your neck again. “That sounds kinda kinky. But c’mon, girl, you know I got skills.”  
You roll your eyes. “I know you got a big ego.”  
“And the goods to match,” he snickers, pressing against you, and then catches himself. “But challenge accepted.” He moves back to your breasts, stroking you so lightly that your nipples tighten, already aching for more. “I promise to go soft,” Fangs says, dipping his mouth to draw circles with his tongue that make you suck in your breath. “And slow.”  
He keeps that up: moving between long, slow make-out sessions while he caresses your breasts until you’re gasping into his mouth, and then shifting to lick and suck and gently tease you with his tongue and teeth, fingers just ghosting over your thighs, skirting close but not close enough to your soaked-through underwear.  
“Gentle enough for you?” he snickers, as you clench your fists in the sheet, arch your back up to push against his mouth.  
“Fangs,” you manage to say, as he swirls a tongue around one of your aching nipples. “Come on. I need more.”  
He chuckles as he slides his hand into your underwear. And then he’s breathing in your ear, licking and kissing the sensitive skin behind your earlobes, whispering all those Spanish words again while he slides his fingers over your clit, soft and slow but just enough pressure to have you nearly there.  
When he finally pushes his fingers inside you, you clamp down around them, coming so hard that your moans sound like sobs. As soon as your breathing comes close to being back to normal, he moves down your body; pulling your underwear off so he can push your legs wider open and kiss and lick you where you want his mouth most. You’re squirming, panting, over-sensitive, so much so that you almost want him to hold you down, open, still. But he keeps his hands gentle, lets you find your own rhythm as you tangle your hands in his hair, bucking your hips up against his tongue, basking in the pleasure pulsing through your entire body, the tension building up again.  
But even so, it feels languid, sensual, almost lazy; it’s not only desire but something richer and even more delicious.  
When your breathing starts getting ragged, he pulls away, scrambles out of his clothes and grabs a condom. You pout at the lack of contact but smile when he gets back on the bed, kisses you again, pulls you close.  
“Come here,” he says, sitting up, pulling you over his lap so you’re straddling him, leaning his forehead against yours so he can stare into your eyes. “You’re driving me crazy, Y/N. All I wanna do is fuck you so hard you scream. But this soft and slow thing, it’s better than I thought. It’s like I can feel everything you’re going through, every sensation. It’s amazing. But I know the second I’m inside you, it’s gonna be hell keeping that control. So I need you to do it, okay?”  
You bite your lip and nod, roll your hips against his cock, letting your clit drag along his hard length. Pleasure shudders through you and Fangs grits his teeth, lets his head fall back as you kneel up, then sink your pussy down onto his throbbing dick.  
You knot your arms around his neck and kiss him for a moment while you let yourself adjust to the sensation of feeling him inside you; hot and hard and huge. Then, when you’re both ready, you start to move, keeping every movement slow, steady, deliberate. Your clit throbs from the friction as you ride him, your pussy pulsing around him with every coil of your hips.  
You can feel your orgasm building as he holds you, grabs your ass and pulls you down onto him, his cock going deeper, harder. You’re still forcing yourself to go slow but there’s an intensity now; every time you grind down onto his cock, it’s another shockwave, another moan forcing its way from your lips.  
“Oh my god, Y/N, you don’t know how fucking good you feel right now, keep going, I wanna feel you come.”  
Fangs has his arms around you, he’s close now, not pulling your hair or digging his fingers into your skin the way he usually does, but touching you everywhere he can reach; stroking your breasts, your face, your neck, rocking his hips up to meet yours.  
Your gaze meets his as your orgasm hits and he comes then too, holding your shaking body and groaning, his cock pulsing inside you. 

Once you’ve both come back down to earth, he finds your lips with his. And again, you’ve got that feeling that you’re saying without words everything that needs to be said. But Fangs still smiles and tells you you’re amazing, and you grin and tell him you could say the same as you shift off him and let him clean up. 

That night, you fall asleep with your head on Fangs’ chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart. As you doze off, you wonder what Sweet Pea’s doing now, if he’s still awake, if he ever thinks about the two of you before he goes to sleep. You wonder how many miles away you are. You’ll look it up in the morning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, you'll get your reunion with Sweet Pea soon...


	3. High on the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this by accident. My imagination about car games and confessions with Fangs got away from me.

That’s how it goes for you and Fangs. The days spent driving. The nights in cheap motels, messing up the sheets. It’s not sex every night, because the hours are long and you’re both getting tired, but you get into a rhythm that feels intimate, comfortable. Each night, you look online to see how many miles you’ve covered, and how many are left. Counting the total down feels like you’re casting a spell. Keeping you and Fangs and Sweet Pea safe until you can be together again. You’re covering the distance well and you know it won’t be long now.

And while you’re driving, you talk and tease each other, veto each other’s most annoying music tastes and sing along to the ones you like most. You play stupid games, going through every possible combination of Fuck/Marry/Kill for your classmates, then the Serpents. Fangs says he’d marry Sweet Pea (“I mean, we practically are already, boy’s always stealing my food and my weapons”), bone Toni (“someone that cute and deadly has gotta be a total freak in the sheets”) and kill Cheryl (“but only so she can’t kill me first for getting with TT”), but only smirks and tells you you’re missing out when you say you’d sleep with Valerie and marry Kevin before going anywhere near Reggie. After you’ve exhausted the options for that, you move onto I Have Never. Instead of shots, it’s sour candies, the kind that have you confessing all your secrets and making your teeth ache. You already know most of each other’s dirt so it’s a challenge but you manage it, at first. After a while, though, you need longer thinking time between each turn, and it becomes more of a disjointed conversation than a game. You don’t mind, though; it’s late afternoon, so it’s starting to cool down and Fangs is driving, meaning you’ve got control of the snacks and the stereo, and you’ve already agreed to stop at the next services to fulfil all the sordid fantasies you’ve been sharing about iced coffee and proper food. 

You watch the scenery strobe past, somewhere between daydreaming and rummaging through your internal catalogue of Fangs’ weirdest mischiefs and misadventures to find something he hasn’t done. Then something comes to mind, and you don’t know if it’s your place to ask, but what the hell, you’re close enough that he can tell you to leave it if he doesn’t want to answer.  
“Fangs?”  
“Yeah?”  
“You know that night, with me, you and Sweet Pea?”  
He chuckles. “Baby, that night is seared into my memory forever. What’s up?”  
“Have you two ever done that before?”  
If he’s surprised at the question, he doesn’t show it. “With each other, or with someone else?”  
You shrug. “Either. Both.”  
He keeps his gaze on the road, the darkening horizon as dusk approaches. “Never with anyone else.”  
You pass him a sour candy from the packet and he screws his face up as he chews.  
“Why not?”  
“Who else would we have done that with?”  
You scoff. “There must have been other chances. It’s gotta be up there in the top ten fantasies for half of Riverdale.”  
“Top ten fantasies! That’d be a good game. Toni told me Cheryl’s got a ton of weird outfits, and---”  
“Not now, Fogarty.”  
He pouts. “Fine. But nah, never. Just never seemed right. I don’t know. We’re such a close crew that the people we’ve hooked up with always feel like outsiders. You know, like it’s fun and all, but it’s separate. Separate to the Serpents, separate to the important things. I don’t get up in his business, and he leaves me to mine, mostly.”  
“Mostly?”  
Fangs gives a wry little half-smile. “Well, you know what he’s like. Protective, you know. And bossy. So he’s always got his opinions, on people not being good enough for me. Says I should have higher standards. Me, I say we lead dangerous lives. Gotta make the most of being young and gorgeous while we can.”  
You grin. You’ve heard him expound on this philosophy before. He continues.  
“It’s not like we ever discussed it. It just never happened.”  
“Until me.”  
“Until you. But I explained that already. You already knew us so well. We all trusted each other. I knew sex wouldn’t change that.” He glances over and grins. “Why else would I be flirting with you all the time?”  
“Because you’re a deviant?”  
He leans over to give you a playful shove. “I’m not that bad.”  
“Suppose not.”  
You rest your head against the window, wondering whether to ask your next question. When you hear him snicker, you look over to see him grinning.  
“You’re so obvious, Y/N.”  
“What?!”  
“You wanna know, don’t you? About me and Pea?” He cackles and makes a grab for the last of the candy. “Who’s the deviant now?”  
“Shut up.”  
“I’d tell you to make me but we saw how that turned out last time.”  
“I didn’t even ask.”  
“You wanted to.”  
You shrug, grinning. “Can’t blame me for being curious.”  
“I’ll tell you if you want.”  
“Yeah?”  
“Yeah. I mean, we never swore each other to secrecy. Sweets trusts you. He won’t care.”  
“I can’t believe you never told me before.”  
“You never asked.”  
“You two are impossible. Tell me, then. When did it first happen?”  
“After my initiation. Motherfucker smacked the shit out of me during the gauntlet, said he felt guilty after. It was in that back room at the Wyrm. He brought me some ice and then dared me to get my tattoo on my neck like his.”  
“I thought you got initiated at the same time?”  
Fangs shakes his head. “Mine was a couple of weeks later. His tattoo was still healing. I wanted to touch it, to feel how swollen it was--”  
“I bet,” you snort.  
“Haha,” he replies, deadpan but with a wicked glint in his eyes. “The tattoo, pervert. And at first he said it was too sore, but then he let me. His skin was so hot. It was like being burnt. But I couldn’t move my fingers away.”  
Fangs trails off, remembering. The car rattles around you. Night’s coming in now. The road stretches forward as far as you can see.  
“You know Toni and Jughead hooked up after his initiation, right?” Fangs says after a few moments. “There’s something about it. All that crazy adrenaline, and then this sudden calm. You hurt all over. Like, your entire body is aching, you’re exhausted, and your head’s still spinning but the danger’s over, and you’ve got your jacket on and everyone surrounding you, being all the things family are supposed to be. It’s brilliant, but it’s a headfuck. And Sweet Pea was there, just when I needed it most. He must have known how much I might need it, mustn’t he, sneaky bastard, because he’d been in that position like a fortnight before. I don’t know who was there for him. But I loved him for that, for being stubborn enough to not go easy on me, but then to be there after, when the adrenaline was wearing off and I just wanted someone to distract me from the pain, to say the damage wasn’t that bad, to tell me I’d done good.”  
You don’t even realise you’ve been holding your breath until he stops speaking. You can picture it all, every detail. Melting ice in a glass and a wad of paper towels. The Serpent jacket creak, before they’ve been broken in. Bruised bones, split skin. Muffled growling guitars from the jukebox in the bar. And Fangs’ cool fingers on Sweet Pea’s neck, finding the raised lines of his tattoo and then not stopping there, sliding further round to pull him closer in.  
“That’s how it started. You know what a good kisser he is,” Fangs continues. You swallow and nod, feeling heat in your cheeks as you summon up the feel of Sweets’ lips. “We were high on the night, on the Serpents, on each other. Once we started, we couldn’t stop.”  
He doesn’t tell you the dirty details, but he doesn’t have to. You can feel the desire, the energy; white-hot pain being alchemised by something deeper, darker, more all-encompassing; blackness shot through with silver.  
“I never knew,” you murmur, after a while.  
Fangs checks himself like he’s coming back from far away. “It’s not all the time. Just on and off. It happens more when things are rough, like with all that shit at school. You need it more then. Something good, in amongst all the mess. Or something messy, to remind us who we are.” He sucks in a big shuddery breath. “When I got home from hospital, he was all I wanted. We couldn’t do anything then, not until I had the stitches out and everything, but, man… I wanted him so bad. Like that was the only thing that could convince me I was still here.”  
You blink back tears, remembering taking turns with Pea in that tiny hospital room, the bleep of the machines and the blue shadows under Sweets’ eyes, the way he wouldn’t even eat or sleep until you nagged him so hard he gave in. The way that afterwards Fangs seemed more alive than before, with all these details you’d never noticed, never treasured until then; the glint of his teeth whenever he laughed, that luxurious animal softness of his hair when he fell asleep with his head in your lap.  
You fight to keep your voice level. “I’m glad you survived, Fogarty.”  
Fangs grins then, squeezes your hand and then chucks you under the chin. “Me too, girl. But didn’t we say no more mushy shit?”  
“True.” You point to a sign for the services, five miles down the road. “But only ‘cos we’re almost there.”

As Fangs’ takes the exit, your phone goes off. Joy blazes through you when you see who it’s from. For the first time all week, he’s finally replied. Sweet Pea’s back in touch.


	4. Let's Just Go Tonight

Y/N: How you doing, Sweets? 

You sent that a couple of days into your road trip. Above it is your last message, the one that said you were coming. You never got an answer. This time, all he’s sent are two words. 

SP: Hanging on. 

You grimace, knowing he’ll never tell you the details. Especially if they’re ugly. He’ll always try and protect you from the worst, try and handle everything himself. Motherfucker is hard to help. You know all that, so you don’t pry. Instead, you check the map and send an update. 

Y/N: We’re almost there.

There’s no answer. Not at first. Not for a couple of minutes. Enough time to get your heart lurching in fear that you’ve come all this way in vain, in error, on a stupid quest with no winners, because maybe he doesn’t want you there, maybe you can’t be there, maybe it really is dangerous, maybe you shouldn’t have come. But staying apart seemed impossible too and you’re feeling that slow cold creep of panic when your phone goes off in your hand. 

SP: For real?  
SP: I thought you were kidding. 

You stop yourself from sending back a stream of insults. How can he not know you mean it? But he’s far away, has been for ages, dealing with who knows what. Maybe you can’t fault him for not believing. So you look how far’s left, consult with Fangs, and send your message back. 

Y/N: If we make good time, we should be there some time tomorrow. 

He types. Then stops. Then types again. You’re getting ready for some snappy crafted comeback, but his answer when it comes is so sincere it feels like being winded by his brass knuckles. 

SP: Don’t be fucking with me.  
SP: Please.  
Y/N: Never.  
Y/N: Well, not never. But not about this. 

Another wait, but not as long as before. 

SP: You don’t know how much I’ve missed you. 

He says he can’t talk for long and asks you where you are. Then he says you’ll have to find somewhere for you all to stay. Apologises and says you can’t stay with him, not right now anyway. 

SP: I gotta keep you two nutcases far away from my family craziness. Definitely too much to handle combined. 

You wonder what he’s keeping hidden behind those simple sentences, but you don’t push. If Sweet Pea talks, it’s on his terms and when he’s ready. You gotta let him be the one to decide what he shares when. 

Y/N: Don’t worry, we got savings we can use on somewhere to stay.  
Y/N: We’ll sort something.  
SP: So tomorrow or the day after, yeah?  
SP: I’ll take care of stuff here so I can get away.  
SP: Just tell me where when you know.  
Y/N: We will.  
SP: I can’t believe you’re really coming.  
Y/N: As fast as we can.

He sends a snake and a heart, and you do the same. 

Then Fangs is pulling up at the rest stop, the tyres spitting stones as they hiss to a halt.  
You hand the phone over. “Read that.”  
He scans the texts, a funny little smile on his face. “He thought we were messing with him? That boy really needs to learn to let himself be looked after once in a while.”  
“We can do it, right? Like, we could make it tomorrow if we make good time? I know we’re tired, but we’re so close now, and I know he’d be fine if it was the day after that, but--”  
But Fangs is already pulling up the map on his phone.  
“Fuck it. Let’s do better than that.”  
“What?”  
“Let’s just go now. Tonight. If we drive straight through we can make it by mid-morning. We’ll get there then find somewhere to crash out for a few hours. That way he can come meet us whenever and he won’t be waiting, wondering if and when we’re gonna show.”  
The two of you are grinning like demented little kids.  
“It’s a motherfucking plan, Fogarty.” 

You fuel up on everything you’ve been jonesing for. Fangs wants to just grab more candy and get back on the road, but you know you both need proper food. You compromise on burgers even though they won’t be as good as at Pop’s. You raise your (definitely inferior to Pop’s) milkshakes and say Sweet Pea’s name as the glasses clink together, smiling at each other like you’ve got a secret. Then you get supplies: water and protein bars and cartons of iced coffee and everything else you can think of.

“No-one else would do this, you know,” Fangs says, as you head back out to the car. “If it wasn’t for you, it’d be just me on my bike. Or worse, still at home, miserable and not knowing what to do.”  
“I’m glad we’re together too.”  
“I mean it, Y/N. He’s lucky. We both are. You’re something else.”  
And before you get back in to your little borrowed rustbucket to drive through the night, Fangs grabs you round the waist and pulls you close. He breathes in against your neck, finds your lips with his. 

Everything you’ve got goes into that kiss. All the lurking fears and the small defiant hopes, all the desire and all of everything else. Fangs pushes you back, against the cold metal of the car, body pressing against yours even with you pulling on his jacket lapels to try and get him closer. 

A car horn makes you break apart as someone drives past, and you both smile, sheepish and sweet. You could get used to kissing Fangs, you think, as you bundle in your bags and get ready to set off. Even though you’d done it a million times before all this, and a million more during, every time sets something off inside you. That boy is honeycomb, caramel, caffeine, petrol bombs, razorblades. You can taste the rich toffee sweetness of who he really is, under all the oil and tar of everything that’s happened to him, everything he’s had to do. It’s like a high, this reaction he sets off inside of you. And you know it’d be easy to end up addicted. 

For now, though, you say you’ll drive first. Fangs has done the last few hours, he claims he doesn’t need a nap but you can tell his concentration’s slipping even after the coffee and candy, and you don’t want a crash. So you make him get in the back. It’s much too small for him to curl up comfortably, but he finds a way; boots shucked off and feet up sideways on the seat, using one of your hoodies as a pillow. You put your music on low and point the car into the night. Tiredness is eating both of you alive but the need to get to Sweet Pea is stronger. 

Five hours later and the clock is somewhere between three and four. You find a place for a bathroom break, and Fangs stirs when the engine stops growling.  
“How you doing, baby? Need me to take over?”  
You roll your neck and shoulders, giving a soft groan of appreciation when he leans forward from the back seat and slips his hands under your shirt collar to rub away the knots.  
“Maybe. But first I want hot chocolate. And some breakfast. Something made entirely from pastry and sugar.”  
“You got it, girl.” 

After croissants and polystyrene cups of chocolate, you trade places and get back on your way. You doze through the dawn, fading in and out of sleep to the sounds of Fangs singing under his breath to all the tracks he pretends not to know around anyone else. 

Not long before 9am, you’re snarled up in commuter traffic. You yawn in the back seat, uncurling to sit upright and rub your thumbs either side of Fangs’ neck to keep him calm.  
“Get moving, dicks,” he snaps at the nearby cars, his rings clicking on the steering wheel. “Get to your stupid boring jobs so we can rescue our hot biker boyfriend.”  
“Boyfriend?” you say, as he noses the car slowly forward. 

Fangs chuckles through his impatience. “Near enough.”  
You grin back and check the map. Even with the delay, you’re not far now. Morning’s here. You’ve made it. 

An hour later, and the roads are almost clear. You’ve clambered back into the passenger seat, both of you thinking you’re badass with your sunglasses on, the music up and the windows down, despite being unshowered and sleep-deprived. You’re on your phone, consulting a list of hotels in town, working out what you can afford. But Fangs says he’s got another idea, and won’t tell you any more no matter how many times you ask. Until you pull up at some fancy-ass hotel, and he slides on that smile that you associate with the flick of his switchblade. 

“What the hell, Fogarty? There’s no way our budget will stretch to this.”  
“Yeah, it will,” he says, rummaging for his Serpent jacket on the back seat and pulling out a fat wad of cash from the inside pocket. “I’ve been holding out on you, Y/N.”  
He thumbs through the notes and you feel yourself go pale. “Fangs, what did you do?”  
“Nothing bad.”  
“Fangs.”  
He puts the money away and adjusts his sunglasses. “Sold some stuff.”  
Your blood turns to ice, remembering all the shit with the Snake Charmer, all the trouble that can come when you need cash. “What kind of stuff? Tell me, Fogarty. Now. Drugs?”  
“Don’t freak out. It was a one-time thing. That night at the Wyrm, remember? That’s where I’d been.”  
It comes crashing back; his blown-out pupils and the blood on his knuckles. The way he fucked you that night; hard and relentless and only half-there. You suspected, then. Asked him about it, even. But you didn’t know that’s where he’d been.  
You stare at Fangs and he holds up his hands, protesting his innocence even though he’s anything but.  
“Hear me out, okay? I wanted to save. For when Sweets came back. So we could go back to school in September and he wouldn’t have to work again straight away. A bit of a break, you know, after being here all summer. So I did that one job, and then a couple more. Things with me and you were messy, we were in freefall, missing him and taking it out on each other, and I thought, okay. Money’s something we always need. I can concentrate on that, put my head down and do whatever jobs come in, and then when Sweets comes back things will be better. But then you came up with this plan to come get him, and… I thought I should bring it. Just in case.”  
You put your hands over your face and groan. “You shouldn’t have got involved with that shit. It’s dangerous.”  
“It’s done. Never again, I promise.”  
“For real?”  
“For real.”  
You let your hands drop and glare. “Lie to me again and I’ll set Sweet Pea on you.”  
Fangs takes his sunglasses off and chews one of the arms. “I did it for him. And for you, Y/N. For all three of us. I know it was reckless. But all that fighting to survive gets exhausting after a while. I figured this could help it not be so hard.”  
The sincere anxious edge in his voice is enough to thaw your fury.  
“So what are we doing here?” you say, more softly now, eyeing the luxurious hotel lobby through the glass double doors. It’s the sorta place more suited to Veronica, not riff-raff like you.  
Fangs rifles through the money again and gives a cute little smirk. “I figure we blow some of this on the most bomb-ass suite we can get. Welcome our boy back in style.”


	5. Perfect Daydream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand... this might be it for now. Which I feel a bit conflicted about, as this turned out much more fluffy than the hardcore filth-fest I think some of you were hoping for (me included). But I like where I've left it for now, and I really, really hope that you will too. 
> 
> This series (Snakes & Hearts, Messy and now All the Brightest Stars) has been my first foray into fanfic, ever. So thank you so much for all the encouragement and support. I never expected all the lovely comments and feedback and they honestly mean the world.

“This bed is ridiculous. It’s like being caressed with a cloud.”  
Fangs flumps down on the mattress, gleeful and giggling as he shucks his boots, gets comfortable. The hotel clerk was definitely suspicious, but once Fangs flashed the money, they soon found you a room. And while you’ve only got grotty motels to compare it to, even you know this is luxe. There’s a bigger bed than you’ve ever seen. White bedlinen, plush carpet, sunlight. The bathroom’s the same size as your entire trailer. It’d be easy to feel grubby and out of place, but right now you’re so dazed by how gorgeous and grand it all is that your grin just splits your face.  
Fangs is on his phone already, sending Sweets the address. You can feel the tiredness still, dragging in your muscles with every movement, but layered over that, there’s anticipation, adrenaline. The idea of Sweet Pea being so close but not here is a sore-throat sort of hurt but you know he’ll come as soon as he can and that’s a familiar kind of comfort. He’s never let you down. 

You’re on edge, over-tired in that way that makes all your emotions feel close to the surface. But you decide getting clean will sort you out.  
“Can I claim the bathroom first?” you ask Fangs.  
“Sure.” He looks up from his mobile and cocks an eyebrow. “Want company?”  
You roll your eyes. “Aren’t you exhausted?”  
“Yeah, but I’m not gonna pass up the chance for shower sex. Especially in that bathroom. I bet we could get all three of us in there.”  
“We’re still doing that, then?”  
“What?”  
“The threesome thing.”  
He shrugs. “I mean, if you two are down, then I definitely am.”  
You look away and start unpeeling your grimy roadtrip clothes. “Sweet Pea might not be.”  
Fangs kneels up on the bed and comes closer, voice soft. “So we’ll decide between the three of us what we want this to be. And whatever that is, it’ll be okay, Y/N.”  
Nope. Nope. You’re not doing this. Not when you don’t even know why you feel so strange and scared. You inhale, glance over his concerned face, those eyes, those lips. Handle this the only way you know how.  
“Get in the shower, idiot.” 

He helps you wash your hair and holds you while you rest your head on his soapy chest and it’s as innocent as it could be considering you’re both naked. You breathe in the eucalyptus shower gel scent, trace the line of his Serpent tattoo through the bubbles, share a soft kiss with the water running down your faces and wonder how things got to this surreal state where sharing a shower with Fangs in a fancy hotel suite almost seems like no big deal. 

Maybe you’re just tired. 

Afterwards, you collapse in the Egyptian cotton sheets. It’s hours later when a knock at the door makes you stir. Fangs is still asleep and by the light coming through the windows it looks like it’s afternoon by now and you’re dazed, disorientated, not with it, and it’s only as you shuffle in your socks to see who’s there that you remember what you’re doing here, who you’re waiting for. 

You ignore your spiking pulse, the pinball feeling in your bloodstream. Drag a hand through your dishevelled, fell-asleep-with-it-wet hair and look down at your clothes; sleep shorts and one of Fangs’ shirts, sleeves hacked off and half the buttons missing. This isn’t how you pictured this going. But right now you don’t care at all. 

So you open the door, and there he is. Sweet Pea. All six foot something of him, messy but beaming. Looking tired and pale and frayed; a million times better than you remember. 

And just like that, that ache that’s been in your bones since he went dissolves down into nothing. And instead it’s just fireworks; fierce white-hot sparks of joy, understanding, recognition, desire.  
“Hey you,” he says, as you hurl yourself into his arms. He lifts you up so your face is level with his and damn if having him hold you like this doesn’t feel the most perfect, most comfortable, most right thing you’ve felt in _forever_.  
“Dammit, Pea,” you mutter into his ear. “I missed you so freaking much.”  
He does this noise that’s half chuckle and half sigh. “Missed you too, Y/N.”  
You squeeze him tighter, letting your tears leak into his jacket collar, that perfect warm crook of his neck. He squeezes you back for what feels like ages but still not long enough, and even when he reluctantly puts you down all you can do is stare at him with a mile-wide smile, drinking him in like you’ve been dehydrated for too long.  
He smirks. “You gonna let me in, then?” 

As he enters the suite, he looks around and gives a long low whistle. “How the hell did you blag this?”  
“Come on, Sweets, you know I don’t kiss and tell.” He narrows his eyes and you snort. “Joke. Pointy Teeth sorted it.”  
Sweet Pea’s gaze comes to rest on Fangs, starfished in bed with his hair a mess, stirring at the sound of your conversation. The soft smile Sweets gets when he sees him is pure magic, and you feel a surge of gratitude that he trusts you enough to let you see.  
Fangs blinks awake. “Pea?” he mumbles, sitting up half-asleep still. “I was just dreaming about you.”  
“I bet,” Pea mutters, and in an instant he’s on the edge of the bed, arms wrapped round Fangs and their foreheads pressed together.  
“Dude, you know you’re not allowed to leave me like that again,” you hear Fangs mutter as he holds Pea’s shoulders, and even from here you can see his fingertips are white from holding so tight.  
“No way,” Sweets says, messing his hair more. Then something that sounds like ‘need you.’ Something that sounds like ‘never should have gone.’ You watch them, arms hugged around yourself, feeling like something sharp and fractured inside you is being slowly mended.  
Fangs realises you’re not in bed. “What are you doing, Y/N? Need a written invitation to get over here?”  
You roll your eyes and come closer, help Pea out of his boots, jacket and jeans. Still way more clothes than he needs but more comfortable, at least.  
“Hang on,” Sweets says, stopping you as you start to clamber back into bed beside them. He’s looking at your legs, and the skin where your shorts sit low on your hips. “What happened?” He pulls you close, pushing up the fabric of your shirt to see the bruises better.  
“It’s nothing, Sweets. Honestly.” You voice wobbles as he traces his fingers over them, but not because of any hurt. Just that his touch is an electric shock, a jolt of something you’ve needed. You swallow. “Just getting into scrapes as usual.”  
“They look like fingermarks. Tell me, Y/N. Because if someone put their hands on you I’ll--”  
“It was me,” Fangs says, and for all his usual bluster and bravery you can hear uncertainty in his words too.  
Sweet Pea frowns. “What the--? You hurt her? Dude, I told you to look after her, and--”  
“Pea, it’s okay,” you say, a hand on the back of his neck like you can siphon off some of this tension and doubt. “For real. It was both of us. We got a bit messy with you gone, and we took it out on each other. Fangs didn’t hurt me. Not really.”  
“Enough to give you bruises,” Pea growls, arms folded, but you can tell from his voice he’s torn.  
“And at the time, that’s what I wanted,” you say. “I know he’d never take it somewhere I didn’t want. Just like I know you never would.”  
“I just… I’ve been thinking about you both this entire time, and it was like this perfect daydream, that you two were both good back there on the South Side. You know, safe, happy, doing your thing like always. Something solid to come back to. It’s weird to have that turned upside down, to think of you…” He says it gruffly, slowly, trailing off as he runs his hands through his hair.  
“We’re here now,” you tell him, cupping his face. The concern in his dark eyes is too much to take. “And we are good, now we’re back with you. I swear.”  
That cracks a smile from him. “I can’t believe you came all this way.”  
“Believe it, baby,” Fangs says, gently pushing Pea back into the pillows so you can snuggle into him on either side. His muscles are tense but you can feel the worries he’s been holding in starting to seep away.  
“So, you wanna tell us what’s been going on, Sweets?” you ask, when the three of you are settled, cosy and soaking up the closeness, the warmth, the comfort of being back together.  
“Maybe later,” he mutters into your hair. “Do I even dare ask what the hell you two have been getting up to with me gone?”  
Fangs snickers. “Maybe later.”  
Pea snorts. “Bitch, you know you can’t keep secrets from me. I’ll get it out of you sooner or later.”  
“Just try it, short stuff.”  
Sweets grins lazily, drags Fangs closer in that same half-headlock half-hug move you’ve seen him do before. “Flirting with me already, Fogarty? That didn’t take long.”  
Fangs meets your eyes over Pea’s chest with a cheeky look. “I mean, we drove for days just to see you. By this point, we’re probably past playing it cool.”  
“Good thing I’m cool enough for all three of us, then,” Pea deadpans, prompting you to tickle him relentlessly until he groans and begs for mercy.  
“Yeah, Pea,” you deadpan back. “Incredibly cool.”  
“Game recognise game, babe.”  
You go to smack him with a pillow but he pins you down before you can, Fangs laughing next to you both.  
“So how was it on the road, then?” he asks, gazing down at you, and you begrudgingly have to admit it: Sweet Pea _is_ cool, or can be when we wants to be, because he must _know_ , mustn’t he, what even just that look does to you? And here he is, making small talk as his eyes move down your body, pretending it’s just casual, pretending your skin isn’t burning up with want everywhere it’s in contact with his.  
“Good,” Fangs says, watching you both like he wants popcorn to go with it. “Talked about you the entire way, obviously.”  
“Yeah?”  
“Yeah. Y/N was telling me all her sordid fantasies about you.”  
“Shut _up_ , Fangs!” you squeal, though you can’t keep from laughing. You glance back at Pea and fight to keep breathing when you see how his eyes have darkened. “More like the other way round.”  
“I swear you were the one talking about getting all three of us in that shower.”  
“Fogarty! You know that was you.” But Fangs just grins, unapologetic, unashamed, topless in the soft white sheets and looking so gorgeously mischievous that you can’t stay mad for long.  
“So let’s get things straight--”  
“Difficult, in this room, but continue,” Fangs mutters. Sweets smirks and carries on.  
“--did you two thirsty motherfuckers really just put yourselves through days of driving all in aid of getting another between-the-sheets session with me?”  
“Well, we were mostly on top of the sheets last time, but--”  
Sweets silences Fangs with a look, then softens as he looks back down at you.  
“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” he says, coming closer, voice low now.  
You let out a sigh as his lips connect with the hollow at the base of your throat.  
“Tell me it’s what you want,” he says again, mouth moving against you.  
You’re torn: desire eating you up and a twisting feeling squirming in your chest. You need him to know. For real, not just over text messages or disguised in jokes. You need him to know how much he means to you both.  
“I want you, Sweets,” you say, and Fangs’ eyes flash as Sweets lets out a soft groan. “But that’s not all I want.”  
He shifts to meet your eyes again. “What is it, Y/N?”  
“Sweet Pea, you know what’s up. Just being here, you gotta be able to tell how much I I want you. Like, so bad. More than ever. But it’s not just sex. You gotta know that, right? I want you. This. Us. All three of us. I never knew how much I took it for granted until you weren’t there. Now I know how good I’ve got it, I’m not letting it go.”  
He cups your face, moves a thumb over your cheekbones, your wet eyelashes. “What are you saying, baby girl?”  
You swallow and it feels like tiny shards of shattered glass in your throat. How can you feel more naked like this than you did that night with them both? “We’re staying with you. Whatever you need, we’re here. Or if you need to do it on your own, we’ll wait, somewhere near, until you’re ready to come home. We’ll use our savings, get jobs, whatever. But we’re not letting you leave us again.”  
“Damn,” Fangs whispers from by your side, and his voice comes out thick too. “That was beautiful.” He moves closer, snags an arm over Pea’s shoulders so he can smack a kiss on his cheek. “And she’s right, by the way. So stop trying to be a tough lone wolf motherfucker. As long as you want us too, then you’re stuck with us, baby.”  
Pea kneels up, sits back on his heels, looks at you both for a long moment. You don’t move a muscle. You don’t dare look at Fangs. You barely even breathe. You realise you never even really discussed this with Fangs but you’re relieved you’re on the same page. You fucking love him, you realise, more than you ever did before. And Sweet Pea, well, you’ve _always_ loved him; even though you said it was platonic, by now there’s no denying there’s much more depth to it than the easy affection and chemistry you’ve always shared. You love them. Both of them. And you’re just hoping against hope that you didn’t just fuck it up.  
Sweet Pea takes a big breath and you brace yourself, until you see the smile start to creep onto his face. “Okay,” he says. “Okay. I’ve no freaking clue how we’re gonna make this work, but we’ll figure it out. If I’m gonna be this lucky as to get you both, I’m not gonna say no.”  
Fangs grabs him in a bear-hug, beaming and plastering kisses all over his face. “Dude, you know we love you,” he mumbles, as Sweet Pea wrestles him into submission. “All you gotta do is let us.”  
You watch them, feeling like your heart’s about to burst. They crash back into the pillows and Sweet Pea extends his hand to pull you back to them, asking if you’re good.  
You don’t trust yourself to talk, so you bite your lip and nod.  
“Good,” Sweets says, that shit-eating grin you know so well plastered back on his face properly now. “Now come here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and seeing these three through this adventure with me! I'd love to know what you think, lovelies...


End file.
